The Pariah.
CHAPTER I.
One morning a poor Pariah was seated at the door of his miserable hovel in a solitary spot not far from the bank of a river. He was in a state of the saddest destitution. Famine had ravaged the district. Thousands of his countrymen had died around him, and he expected every moment a similar doom. His wife was lying with a baby at her breast in a corner of the hut, unable to rise from exhaustion. Food indeed was to be purchased at the neighbouring town, but he had no money, and no one in the bazaar would sell food to a Pariah. He made up his mind to die. For days he tasted nothing but the roots of a few shrubs which grew sparingly upon the river’s bank. The whole of that morning he had followed a drove of oxen, and collected their dung in order to obtain the few grains of gram[24] which it might chance to contain. Having washed the ordure, after a hard morning’s labour he obtained about a handful of grain, which he boiled and gave to his wife. He had himself fasted since the previous day. His wife was a young creature, not yet fifteen, though the mother of three children. He loved her with a fondness as ardent as it was merited, and this fondness was now greatly enhanced by the sad circumstances to which they and their children were likely to become victims.
The unhappy husband gazed upon the waters of the river as they flowed solemnly onward, his mind absorbed in his own intense distress. “What is there,” he thought, “in this world to render life desirable? Is it not one continued scene of privation to the despised Pariah? Is he not an outcast from every human community but that degraded race of which he is a member? May he not be struck dead if he but cross the path of a Brahmin? If the hand of tyranny is raised to strike, dare he lift up his to ward off the stroke? If his shadow pass over the ground upon which the feet of holy men are treading, is it not pronounced accursed, and he doomed to expiate the fearful penalty of having cast pollution upon the very earth which now denies him sustenance? And yet death is a terrible event. What becomes of the Pariah when the vultures have secured his body, and his bones are reduced to dust? He has no prospect beyond the grave, which shuts him out from all future hope. He has therefore no motive for preserving life, and yet he has a natural dread of losing it. The certainty, however sad, is preferable to the terrible uncertainty that may issue in something worse. The elements of happiness may be found in this world with all its miseries. If I could provide for those around me I should still be comparatively a happy man; I have a wife whom I love, children dear to my heart; could I but give them food, with all this bereavement, I would no longer deplore the condition of a poor Pariah.”
These and similar thoughts passed through the mind of the starving Hindoo as he sat before the door of his hovel, gazing with a vacant expression upon the river. It was here of great breadth and considerable depth. He was at length aroused from his mental absorption by seeing on the other side a horseman riding at full speed towards the bank. He observed the man’s impetuous career, every moment expecting to see him halt; but no—the stranger urged his steed madly onward and plunged into the river. The current, though not turbulent, was rapid, and he was borne down the stream. His horse encumbered with its load—for besides the rider, it had a large pack upon its back—soon began to sink under its burthen. The rider perceiving his peril quitted the saddle and began to swim towards the shore; but he was heavily clad, and the current proved too strong for him.
The horse, released from its encumbrance, rose gallantly above the waters, and succeeded in reaching the bank. The man was soon in extreme danger; he could scarcely keep his head above the surface; his struggles were desperate, but it was evident they could not last much longer. His stomach was already filled with water—his eyes were becoming dim—his senses fading fast; he gasped, turned upon his back, and drifted with the stream.
The Pariah, seeing the stranger’s peril, started from the ground, and, weak as he was, ran to the bank opposite to the spot where the swimmer was struggling, and, plunging into the river, with much difficulty succeeded in bringing him to land. The stranger lay for some time insensible; but by rubbing and rolling him upon the ground, the Pariah finally restored him to consciousness. He looked at his benefactor and pronounced a blessing upon him.
“How is it,” he cried, “that a Mahomedan beholds in his preserver one of a race who consider personal contact with any one not of their own caste a carnal defilement?”
“Pariahs do not think thus. You have been preserved by one whose touch would be pollution to a Hindoo, but which I rejoice to find has been the salvation of a Mahomedan. It is at least some consolation to know that there do exist human creatures who can look upon the outcast without shuddering.”
“I see in you the saviour of my life, and that is to me paramount over all the poor considerations of rank. Civil distinctions, when they destroy social obligations, are a bane; I am willing, if he will permit me, to share the hut of the Pariah.”